


The Perfect Guy

by toyhto



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dating, Flirting, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Every time Arthur goes on a blind date, his date turns out to be Eames. What a mystery.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 301





	The Perfect Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I love these boys. [Hello this is my tumblr.](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)

There’re few things Arthur hates more than blind dates. The concept is deeply faulted. No one actually knows him, so when a co-worker or a casual acquaintance says they know a perfect guy for him, there’s no way that could work out. He’s had more luck in finding romance in Cuban prisons than on a blind date. Not that he doesn’t regret what happened in the Cuban prison, because he does. But that doesn’t change the fact that blind dates are just disappointing.  
  
Knowing all that, it’s a bit strange that he’s now sitting in a restaurant in Berlin, waiting for his date to show up. But the old friend who set them up swore this guy would be perfect for Arthur. And Arthur’s been in the city for a week, preparing for the job, and he’s been thinking about nothing else, and alright, he hasn’t got laid in two months, and his cat is looking at him with pity these days.  
  
He takes a deep breath. His date is late. Five more minutes and then he’ll go. He’ll get to the hotel, order a pizza, jerk off as efficiently as possible, and then try to get some more work done before he passes out. That’s a good plan. That’s -  
  
_Oh, fucking hell._  
  
“Oh, fucking hell,” Eames says and walks to him through the restaurant. “What’re you doing here?”  
  
Arthur bites his lip very hard. “I’m on a blind date.”  
  
“No,” Eames says.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says.  
  
Eames grabs the chair across the table from Arthur, leans onto it and stares at Arthur like he thinks Arthur’s personally responsible for this. “Again?”  
  
“It seems that way,” Arthur says and clears his throat. “Your name was supposed to be Daniel.”  
  
“You were supposed to be hot,” Eames says.  
  
It takes Arthur a few seconds to get angry, and then a few more to realize Eames is smirking at him. “Shut up.”  
  
“Alright,” Eames says and sits down. “How many times has this happened? Can you remember?”  
  
“I think four times. If you count Helsinki.”  
  
“Yeah, I count Helsinki,” Eames says. “You should really update your profile picture on Tinder.”  
  
“You were using someone else’s picture.”  
  
“Well, what I was doing in that country was kind of illegal,” Eames says, “which you know very well, so you should understand why I didn’t want Finnish authorities to come across my face on Tinder. Anyway, are you hungry?”  
  
Arthur swallows. Of course he’s hungry. “What?”  
  
“We should eat,” Eames says and sits down. “Now that we’re here. What do you want? It’s on me, man.”  
  
“I don’t need you to buy me dinner,” Arthur says. He’s sounding angrier than he means to for some reason, but Eames didn’t seem to mind.  
  
“Well, I know that,” Eames says. “So, what about chicken?”  
  
“I’m not staying.”  
  
“What? Did you have another date scheduled for tonight?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says and stands up. He’s hungry and he really likes chicken and the last thing he wants to do is to jerk off alone in the hotel room. “I’ve got work to do.”  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says in a voice quiet enough that no one else will hear.  
  
“Have a good night,” Arthur says and walks away.  
  
He’s never going on a blind date again.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next time Arthur goes on a blind date is in Texas. The job hasn’t started yet, he’s two days early, the town’s so small he keeps forgetting its name, and the two other people in the local bar are giving him funny looks. He doesn’t know if it’s because he looks gay or because he looks rich. He doesn’t feel rich, not when the air is hot and humid like this and he’s sweating through his clothes and the fabric of his shirt clings into his skin and he already had patches at his armpits when he got here. He’s not feeling very gay either, not right now. It’s probably impossible to have sex in this climate. He should just leave, but the person who set this thing up swore that this guy would be perfect for him.  
  
He’s wondering if he’s got a spare shirt in his rental car and if it was worth the trouble to go and change, and then Eames walks in. The two other people in the bar turn to look at him. Arthur looks at him as well.  
  
“Hello,” Eames says and sits down next to him at the counter. “Funny meeting you here.”  
  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Arthur says. The radio’s playing country music loudly enough that the other clients won’t probably hear. “What’re you doing here?”  
  
“I suppose,” Eames says, “the same thing than you.”  
  
“No. Our forger’s name –“  
  
“Rick.” Eames glances at him and smiles. “What do you think? Fitting, right?”  
  
“You don’t look like Rick at all,” Arthur says, trying to make it sound like an insult. But he’s tired and hot and he didn’t remember he hates Texas this much. Besides, he had already let himself begin to think that he’d be getting laid tonight. “I can’t understand how this keeps happening to us.”  
  
“If I had to guess,” Eames says, pauses and licks his lips, “I’d say that maybe we’ve been working at the same circles for a long time. We know the same people, and they don’t know that we know each other, because I use different names and you pretend you’ve never heard of me.”  
  
“I don’t do that.”  
  
“Really? What was that in Istanbul in last September? I was about to ask you about your cat and you just walked to me and shook my hands and said your name like we had never met.”  
  
“I had a headache,” Arthur says and takes a deep breath. “The cat’s fine.”  
  
“Still judgmental?”  
  
“No.” He rubs his forehead. God, he’s going to have a headache again. It’s because of the heat, and the lack of sex, and Eames. “He found himself a girlfriend and doesn’t care much about me these days.”  
  
“Your cat’s not gay?”  
  
“I can’t believe we always end up on these blind dates.”  
  
Eames stares at him quietly for a long time but doesn’t ask about the cat again. “Maybe it’s because we’re both gay. Must seem like a destiny to straight people.”  
  
“Half of the people in our business are gay.”  
  
“Alright. Then I suppose they’re just thinking that we’d be perfect for each other.”  
  
“Shit,” Arthur says and closes his eyes just for a second. Maybe it helps if he opens the top button of his shirt.  
  
“You know,” Eames says slowly, “this place I’m renting, it’s got air conditioning. You’re soaking, mate. Maybe you should come over.”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
“I’ve got a few questions about the job anyway,” Eames says. “And it’s not like you’ve got anything else to do tonight. I heard you had a blind date and it didn’t go well.”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Eames was watching his throat. He swallows.  
  
“We could have take-out,” Eames says, blinking. “Pizza. What do you think?”  
  
“This is crazy,” Arthur says. “We aren’t on a date.”  
  
“Of course not,” Eames says. “I’ll order for you, darling, and then we’ll go to my place.”  
  
Arhur opens another button of his shirt, and then he follows Eames and two pizzas to Eames’ place. But only for the air conditioning, and only because he can’t make himself say that he’s got that in his flat, too. Eames’ place is irritatingly small and there’s nowhere else to sit than on the bed, so they settle there side by side, eat the pizza with their fingers, throw greasy napkins onto the floors, Eames asks sharp questions about the job and Arthur talks more than he means to, and soon he realizes it’s midnight.  
  
“Are you sure?” Eames asks, when Arthur tells him that he’s going to leave now.  
  
“Of course,” he says. “Thanks for the pizza.”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” Eames says. “Sorry for ruining your blind date.”  
  
“You couldn’t have known,” Arthur says and then leaves. At least the air is cooler now that sun’s gone down hours ago. He drives five something miles to his flat and tries to ignore the fact that he’s half-hard in his pants for sitting next to Eames for four hours. Hell, he must be lonelier than he realized.  
  
In the flat, he takes a shower and gets to the bed. The only thing he’s sure about is that he’s never going on a blind date again.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Arthur’s been in Paris for two weeks, when someone he knew years ago calls him, asks him how he’s been, and then tells him he should definitely meet up with this one guy who’d be just perfect for him. He agrees. The last time he heard, Eames was back in Mombasa, so there’s no way the perfect guy is Eames.  
  
Arthur puts on his nicest shirt, takes a taxi to the restaurant, waits for almost fifteen minutes because the perfect guy is late, and then asks the bartender for a whiskey when it turns out the perfect guy is Eames.  
  
“You’re in Mombasa,” Arthur says, when Eames sits down at his table.  
  
“You’re in Chicago,” Eames says. “I heard the Miller job went badly.”  
  
“It wasn’t my fault.”  
  
“Of course not. You followed the rules perfectly. What’re you having?”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth to say that he’s not hungry. But he is. And Eames is already looking at the menu. “I can order for myself.”  
  
“Alright,” Eames says. “You look tired. What’ve you been up to, if I may ask?”  
  
“You may not,” Arthur says and sighs. “And you know what I’ve been up to. The Miller job and –“  
  
“And that thing with that one IT firm,” Eames says, glaring at him. “I heard about it. You were an idiot when you took the job.”  
  
“I needed the money.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“Alright, I needed something to do.”  
  
“You should’ve called me,” Eames says. “I would’ve taken you to a club or something.”  
  
“I don’t go on clubs.”  
  
“Can’t you dance?”  
  
“Of course not.” Arthur clears his throat. “Can _you?_ ”  
  
“Of course. I’m brilliant at it.” Eames glances at him. “We should go some time. I’ll teach you. Maybe tonight.”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” Eames says, “you look too tired for that. You should sleep more, darling.”  
  
“Stop calling me darling,” Arthur says and crosses his legs. “You’ve been going to the gym.”  
  
Eames grins at him shortly. “You like it?”  
  
“I don’t hate it,” he says. “So, what the fuck are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m on a blind date.”  
  
“I meant, in Paris.”  
  
“Do you think we should have wine?” Eames says and then frowns. “Of course we should have wine. Are you ready to order? Because I am, and I’m starving. So, did you hear what Ariadne’s been doing? I’ve been trying to tell her that if she’s not careful, she’s going to end up like you. Wouldn’t that be terrible? But apparently she can’t get enough of building impossible things.” Eames shakes his head and looks at Arthur a little disapprovingly.  
  
“Yeah, I know what that feels like,” Arthur says.  
  
“You never built impossible things, darling. From what I hear, you built things that were so logical a computer could’ve done the same.”  
  
“I like logic.”  
  
“That’s just boring,” Eames says, “no wonder you haven’t had any luck in dating. You’re just goddamn lucky that I like you.”  
  
“You don’t _like_ me –“  
  
“Shut up and order,” Eames says.  
  
The food is good and Eames isn’t terrible company. He talks about the business first, the new developments on Somnacin, the jobs he’s refused lately. Then he talks about the weather for a while, before he starts asking casual questions about Arthur’s personal life. All this is familiar. Usually Arthur holds back for a little longer, but this time, there’s no work to think about and he really doesn’t want Eames to get back to talking about the weather again. And they’ve known each other for a long time. Eames probably knows more personal details about Arthur than he lets out, and Arthur’s certainly done thorough research on him more than once. So, he tells Eames about his mother’s new boyfriend, and Eames tells him about how he had to hire a man to fix the pipes in his flat in Mombasa and how he thought the man was flirting at him, and he didn’t realize until they had had sex twice that the man had thought _Eames_ was flirting at _him._ But the sex was fine.  
  
Arthur tells Eames that he hates blind dates. Eames doesn’t ask why he keeps ending up on them. They eat dessert and then they just sit there for a while, until Eames says his hotel is just around the corner.  
  
“Okay,” Arthur says.  
  
Eames looks at him, chewing on his lower lip. “You could just come over.”  
  
Arthur shifts in his chair. “Don’t you have something else to do?”  
  
Eames shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not.”  
  
“I thought you were going to go on a club.”  
  
“Only if you want to.”  
  
“I don’t…” Arthur takes a deep breath. “It’s not like we’re actually on a date, right?”  
  
“Of course not, darling,” Eames says. “The dinner’s on me, by the way. I owe you one for what you did for me in Moscow.”  
  
“That was years ago.”  
  
“I still have the scar,” Eames says. “Could’ve been worse. So, are you coming over or what?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says. “I’m renting a flat. We could go there. I don’t want to be in a hotel, I’m on a vacation.”  
  
Eames shrugs. “Alright.”  
  
The flat is just a big kitchen with dark blue cupboard doors and a window over the rooftops with pigeon on the eaves, and one room with a bed in the corner and more armchairs than actually fit. The sun’s already gone down. Arthur turns on the lights and then switches off the one that crackles, and Eames follows him to the kitchen and takes off his coat. He’s got a new tattoo on his bicep. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt that looks old and almost worn out, and a pair of blue jeans, and no socks. He smells good, even though Arthur probably shouldn’t stand close enough to him to realize that.  
  
“So, what’re you looking for?” Eames asks, when Arthur’s going through the cupboards. “With this whole dating thing, I mean?”  
  
He founds crackers on the upper shelf. “I don’t know. What about you?”  
  
“I asked first,” Eames says.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Arthur says and sits down in a wobbling chair. “I don’t think I have anything that’s got alcohol in it.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Eames says and sits down as well, only his chair creaks and he freezes for a second. “Am I going to break this thing?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur says. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s just dating.”  
  
“I thought you hated blind dates.”  
  
“Yeah. But it’s just you, anyway.”  
  
Eames rubs the side of his nose. “So, if it wasn’t me who always shows up, maybe you’d have met your perfect guy already.”  
  
“I seriously doubt that,” Arthur says and takes a cracker. “And it’s not like I’ve had much hope. No one sane could stick with me, you know, with my career and my lifestyle.”  
  
“Yeah, I suppose we’re both like that. Is there sugar in those things?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says and passes the box of crackers to Eames.  
  
“Too bad,” Eames says and takes one.  
  
“I guess I’m just thinking,” Arthur says, watching the pigeons on the eaves, “that there’s a chance I’d meet someone who’d be, I don’t know, fun for a while.”  
  
“I didn’t think you liked _fun_.”  
  
“Well, I don’t.” Some of the pigeons seem to be asleep. Arthur turns his gaze back to Eames, who’s watching him with a focused look in his eyes. “But it’s been a while.”  
  
“A while?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“A while –“  
  
“Since, you know.”  
  
“I know?” Eames says, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps look ridiculously big like that. Arthur wonders if he’s aware of that.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says, “you know.”  
  
Eames frowns at him.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Arthur says, “sex. I’m talking about sex.”  
  
“Oh,” Eames says.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“It’s been a while since you’ve…”  
  
“Since I’ve had sex. Yeah.”  
  
Eames licks his lips and then takes another cracker. “And what’ve you been doing about that?”  
  
“Well, I’ve been going on blind dates.”  
  
“Obviously,” Eames says. “And how’s that working out for you?”  
  
“You always show up.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says slowly, “yeah, that’s right. So, not well, then.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Arthur says, “I know that. It’s not like you’ve planned it or anything. It’s just, I don’t know, I guess we know the same people.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says and shifts in his chair, “it’s funny how people seem to think we’d be perfect for each other.”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says, “odd.”  
  
Eames blinks, then looks down at his own lap, adjusts the front of his trousers and takes a cracker. “Sorry about that. Something wrong with my boxers.”  
  
Arthur bites his lip.  
  
“Anyway,” Eames says, “you were talking about sex. So, that’s what you’re looking for? Just sex?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says and blinks. He’s apparently still staring at Eames’ crotch. He should probably stop that. He looks at Eames’ face instead. “No, it’s not like I wouldn’t… But it’s been five years since I’ve been in a relationship.”  
  
“It’s been a decade for me,” Eames says easily. “But I don’t think we’re incapable. I think we’re just a little bit rusty.”  
  
“Rusty.”  
  
“Yeah. And this job, it doesn’t really make it easier. You were right about that. But, yeah, what you’re saying is basically that you want the whole thing, a romance and everything, but you’re willing to settle for casual sex because you think the rest is out of the question.”  
  
Arthur stares at him.  
  
“Don’t settle,” Eames says and takes a cracker. “You could get it all.”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it.  
  
“I mean it.”  
  
“I just want to get laid,” he says. He’s staring at Eames’ biceps again. _Shit._  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says slowly and points at him with the half-eaten cracker, “I guess you could start with that. So, what about that? Are you picky?”  
  
Arthur takes a box of crackers back from Eames and makes a pile of crackers on the table. “Not really.”  
  
“No? I would’ve guessed you were.”  
  
“I think I’m picky about the person.”  
  
“Interesting,” Eames says. “So, what’s your type?”  
  
Arthur stares at the crackers. “This is a stupid conversation.”  
  
“Sure,” Eames says and takes a deep breath. “Personally, I think you’re pretty much as good as they get. You’re smart as hell and an obnoxious snob about it and you’d probably follow the rules even if it killed you and I think you iron your underwear, you goddamn idiot. And I don’t probably need to tell you that you’re hot.”  
  
Arthur frowns. “I am?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, “yeah, absolutely, you are. Your face, man, it’s just, I don’t know, it makes me want to do thing, and I’m not going to elaborate what kind of things, but… yeah. You’ve got a good face. You’re very pretty, Arthur. And the rest of you, well, pretty as well. And hot. Like I said.”  
  
Arthur leans back in his chair. “Really?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Eames says, leans forward and takes one of the crackers in Arthur’s pile. “I like your arse.”  
  
“That why you’ve been staring at it?”  
  
Eames bites his lip, then smiles. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”  
  
“I’m not fucking _blind._ ”  
  
“Really?” Eames asks. “Because I happen to know that you wear contacts.”  
  
Arthur stares at him for a few seconds. “Well, I’ve been wearing contacts when you’ve been checking out my ass. So, yeah, I’ve noticed.”  
  
“Sorry about that.”  
  
“No need to apologize.”  
  
“I think you look cute in your glasses,” Eames says. “Like a tiny nerd.”  
  
“You’ve never seen me with my glasses.”  
  
“I’ve seen pictures.”  
  
Arthur thinks about asking how Eames acquired those pictures. He chooses against it. “So, you like my ass.”  
  
“You want me to talk more about your ass?”  
  
“Not necessarily.” He takes a deep breath. “Are you flirting at me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, “yeah, of course, definitely. Are you flirting at me?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Arthur says. “We were on a date, though.”  
  
“Yeah. And you just told me it’s been ages since you’ve had sex. Apparently you really want to get laid.”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says, “but –“  
  
“I’ll make you a deal,” Eames says, then pauses, rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt and scratches the edge of the new tattoo on his bicep. The tattoo’s not so great. But Eames’ arms are. “Sorry about that. The thing itches.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Arthur says, blinking.  
  
Eames glances at him. “I suppose you don’t. So, we were talking about sex. I was going to propose something to you.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“A handjob,” Eames says and leans back in his chair.  
  
“A handjob,” Arthur says slowly.  
  
“Yeah. I’ll jerk you off, you do the same for me, and in the morning you take me out for breakfast.”  
  
“Why the breakfast?”  
  
“Sex makes me hungry,” Eames says, “even though this is hardly sex, you know, so you don’t need to freak out about it.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to freak out.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Eames says, “you’d definitely freak out if we fucked.”  
  
Arthur flinches. Then he bites his lip but it’s too late, and Eames is watching him carefully.  
  
“See? But a handjob is nothing. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine, and then we just take care of the issue. I’m hard already, by the way.”  
  
“This is absurd.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says easily. “So, what do you think?”  
  
“This isn’t some kind of a trick, is it? You aren’t trying to compromise me and then sell me to Russian mafia?”  
  
“I’m aware Russian mafia would pay a lot of money for you,” Eames says, “but no. Don’t you trust me?”  
  
Arthur probably shouldn’t trust Eames. He thinks about it for a few seconds, stands up and undoes his zipper.  
  
“Not in front of the pigeons,” Eames says and stands up as well.  
  
They do it in the living room. Arthur thinks about the bed but Eames doesn’t seem to be aiming for that direction, so where they end up instead is against the wall with an old Madonna poster taped on it. Arthur’s got his back against the wall and when he glances over his shoulder, he’s looking at Madonna in the eyes, only he forgets about her easily enough when Eames wraps his fingers around his cock. He thought they wouldn’t do this slowly but apparently he was wrong. He wraps his left arm over Eames’ shoulders for balance and takes Eames cock in his right hand, and the groan Eames lets out is just obscene.  
  
He’s always known that he kind of likes Eames this way, and he’s done a very good job at not thinking about it, but now it makes everything better. He’s finally getting to do this. He’s finally got his hand on Eames’ dick, he’s finally figuring out the noises Eames makes, the exact amount of tugging and squeezing that makes Eames swear and bite him in the ear, in the _ear_ , and he tries to argue about that but is too far gone already. He just wishes the pigeons aren’t watching. He’s still wearing his shirt, his jeans are in his ankles, his boxers are stuck half-way down his thighs, and there’s not much he can do to make this last longer.  
  
“I’m going to –“  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says sounding breathless and happy, “yeah, alright. Come on, darling, I got you.”  
  
“Are you –“  
  
“Come on, Arthur,” Eames says and kisses him on the throat. He leans his head back to give Eames more space. “Come on, darling, just –“  
  
“I’m –“  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Eames says, squeezes just the right way, and that’s it. That’s fucking it. Arthur closes his eyes and lets Eames hold him up when his knees kind of give out. He fucking loves those arms. He breathes in and out and tries not to think about anything, which is surprisingly easy for once. Eames is breathing hard against his throat, keeps giving him quick kisses too, not on his mouth but on everywhere else he can reach or so it seems. He smells so fucking good.  
  
“Arthur, darling,” Eames says and takes Arthur’s hand carefully, because apparently he’s let go of Eames’ cock at some point, “can I –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m just going to –“  
  
“Yeah,” he says again and kisses Eames’ chin just to make a point. Eames seems to get the message, because he adjusts Arthur’s fingers on his cock and then covers Arthur’s hands with his own and starts tugging. It only takes half a minute, but that’s a great half a minute, the silky length of Eames’ dick in Arthur’s hand, Eames’ breaths in his ear and a pleasant haze in his mind. This is a one-time-thing, of course, Eames wouldn’t be interested in anything more, but he’s still glad they did this. Oh, _shit_ , he likes Eames so fucking much. He just hopes Eames doesn’t know.  
  
Afterwards, they clean themselves with paper towels and wash their hands. Arthur lends Eames his toothpaste, which feels more intimate than the handjob, but Eames doesn’t seem to mind. Then they get to the bed. It’s big enough that Arthur can pretend it’s not weird. But he stays awake for a long time after Eames has fallen asleep, watching Eames’ left shoulder move with steady breathing and listening to the tiny noises Eames makes in his sleep. He’s got a stupid tattoo on his right shoulder blade. Arthur wants to kiss it.  
  
He takes Eames for breakfast in the morning. Eames wants pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate chips. Arthur drinks his coffee black and stares at Eames’ hands as Eames licks the remains of the whipped cream off his fingers.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Arthur doesn’t mean to go on a blind date in Los Angeles, but he’s been staying with Dom for a week now and he needs to get out of the house for a moment. He takes a taxi to the restaurant and uses his phone to check that he’s got nothing stuck in between his teeth while he waits. He’s just put the phone away when Eames appears.  
  
“Hello,” Arthur says and watches as Eames sits down at the table. He’s looking a bit pale, which makes sense, because apparently he’s been staying at London since the job in Dubai.  
  
“Hello,” Eames says, tugging at his tie. “You don’t look surprised.”  
  
Arthur clears his throat. “Well, I had a long phone call with Susan, and then eventually she said that someone else’s staying in the city now, too, and that she actually thinks I might like him, and would I be interested in a blind date. And then she told me that this guy would be perfect for me. And I asked her if it’s you.”  
  
Eames looks like he’s trying to bite back a smile. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah. She seemed a little surprised that I had guessed it.”  
  
“Well, maybe there aren’t so many guys in our circles that would be perfect for you,” Eames says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe there’s just me.”  
  
“Maybe,” Arthur says. “I like your shirt. I didn’t know you know how to iron.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t,” Eames says, “I bought this shirt half an hour ago. That’s why I was late. I was trying to dress up for you, darling.”  
  
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”  
  
“It’s definitely a compliment,” Eames says. “I left the tag on, though. Just in case you wouldn’t like it.”  
  
“I like it.”  
  
“I just thought,” Eames says, “maybe you’d prefer me with, I don’t know, something with shorter sleeves. Or without sleeves. Or without a shirt. Because, you know, I’m still going to the gym.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that,” Arthur says, keeping his eyes carefully on Eames’ face. “So, what’re you taking? It’s on me.”  
  
“No,” Eames says.  
  
“Yes. You paid the last time.”  
  
“You paid for the breakfast.”  
  
Arthur bites his lip. “I thought we weren’t going to mention the breakfast.”  
  
“I thought we were going to mention the breakfast but not the handjob,” Eames says and picks up the menu. “So, how’s your sex life been?”  
  
“Not very interesting.”  
  
“I heard you went on two dates with Philippe when you were in Chicago.”  
  
“How did you hear that?”  
  
“I asked Cobb.”  
  
Arthur frowns. “You’ve been talking to Cobb?”  
  
“Yeah. Wanted to know what you were doing in Chicago. Turns out you were seeing another man.”  
  
Arthur swallows. “Well, I’m not seeing him anymore, don’t worry.”  
  
“Didn’t work out?”  
  
“No. I like you better.”  
  
Eames glances out at him, and there’s a moment when he’s not exactly sure what’s showing on Eames’ face. Then it’s gone. “Well, I’ve always known you’ve got a good taste, darling.”  
  
“We should order,” Arthur says and picks up the menu.  
  
They stay in the restaurant until the waitress seems restless. Then they go to the bar Eames says is nice and quiet, they could talk there, and Arthur doesn’t exactly know what they’re going to talk about but follows Eames anyway. It turns out the bar isn’t nice and quiet. Eames drinks beer and Arthur drinks wine and tries not to stare too much at the way Eames keeps rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and tugging at his tie. He’d definitely let Arthur take that shirt off for him. He’d let Arthur undo all the buttons one by one and ran his fingers down his chest and -  
  
“Darling,” Eames says, leaning over to him, “I’m staying in the hotel. We could go there. Unless you want to take me to Cobb’s place, because I’d be happy to try to sneak into your bed.”  
  
“No sneaking,” Arthur tells him. The music’s loud so he ends up so close to Eames that he needs to grab Eames’ shoulder for support. “We can go to your place.”  
  
Eames nods and puts his hand on Arthur’s waist. “Do you want to dance?”  
  
Arthur doesn’t. But it’s fine, because Eames dances anyway for two or three songs, and Arthur’s more than happy to stay back and watch him. The way Eames dances is terrible, and also it’s getting him hard, which is bad, because his trousers don’t have enough room for that. He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he chose the outfit for tonight.  
  
Maybe he was thinking that he’d get rid of the trousers sooner.  
  
They take a taxi to Eames’ hotel. Arthur’s trying to decide if he drank too much alcohol or too little. Everything feels like a mistake. But Eames is sitting next to him, the flat of his palm pressed against Arthur’s thigh like he thinks Arthur might escape otherwise. It’s good. Arthur tries to cling into the warmth of Eames’ hands and forget about the rest. They’re just going to have sex. Nothing special about that. Nothing to worry about.  
  
“What’re you thinking about?” Eames asks.  
  
Arthur bites his lip. “Sex.”  
  
Eames just blinks. “Any thoughts on that?”  
  
“Not really,” Arthur says. The cab driver seems to be listening to the radio. “You?”  
  
Eames is quiet for a while, then pats Arthur on the knee. “You’ve got condoms?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Eames glances at him. “You knew you were going on a blind date with me and you brought condoms.”  
  
“I like to be prepared,” he says and tries not to smile when Eames snorts.  
  
“Alright,” Eames says and pats his knee again, “yeah, the thing is, you can.”  
  
“I can what?” Arthur says, looking through the window. He never cared much about the city, but Cobb does, so he’s kind of grown used to this place.  
  
“You know.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to presume –“  
  
“It’s alright. And you can.” Eames glances at the driver and then leans a little closer to Arthur. “You can fuck me.”  
  
They get stuck at the red light. “We can do other stuff.”  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says softly, “I’m thirty-five years old. I know what kind of things I like.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Well, you’re only thirty-two.”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it, when the taxi stops in front of the hotel.  
  
“We’re here,” Eames says to him and pays the driver before he can decide what to do. He gets out of the car. The driver throws a few funny glances at them and then takes off, and Eames rests his hand briefly against the low of Arthur’s back. “Having second thoughts?”  
  
“No,” Arthur tells him.  
  
They get inside. In the elevator, there’s an old couple with them. Arthur stares at himself in the mirror while Eames makes small talk about the weather sounding posh and British and a little arrogant. It’s difficult to believe that he’s about to sleep with this man. He tries to adjust the front of his trousers in the cover of his coat, but Eames grins at him, so he probably wasn’t very subtle about that.  
  
Eames’ hotel room is small and messy, as if the first thing he did when he got here was emptying his luggage onto the floor. Arthur stands next to the bed for ten seconds when Eames makes sure that the door is locked, takes the gun from the holster and puts it on the night table. Arthur isn’t even carrying a gun tonight, didn’t think about that. He’s been with Cobb and the kids for two weeks now, and people living that kind of a life don’t go around carrying guns.  
  
He glances at Eames and stops thinking about the gun, because Eames is already taking off his shirt.  
  
“Too many buttons,” Eames says, and Arthur pushes his hands aside and starts unbuttoning the shirt. It's a nice shirt, he’s going to do this properly. And it makes it better that Eames wriggles closer to him and moans when his dick brushes against Arthur’s hip.  
  
“Patience.”  
  
“I’m never wearing this kind of a fancy shirt again,” Eames says.  
  
“Yeah, you are,” Arthur says. “We could go see a movie or something.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can keep my hands off you if I have to sit next to you in a movie theater.”  
  
“Were you serious about it?” Arthur says and tugs the hems of Eames’ shirt free from his trousers. “That you want me to fuck you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, “yeah, of course.”  
  
“Because if you’d rather –“  
  
Eames takes Arthur’s face in between his hands and kisses him on the mouth. It takes Arthur a second to realize he should probably kiss Eames back.  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says, when Arthur’s breathless and a little light in the head and can’t stop thinking that he _knew_ Eames would kiss just like that, he fucking _knew_ that Eames would be a smug idiot about kissing and still somehow brilliant. “Arthur,” Eames says and pushes Arthur back, “what do you want? You want me to blow you instead or something? Because I will. If you want me to. Or we could slow this thing down a little, sit down and… talk, or something, or kiss, or… just tell me what you _want._ ”  
  
Arthur pushes Eames’ shirt off his shoulders. It lands on the pile of clothes on the floor. Not ideal, but he can’t stop to think about that now. He puts his hands on Eames’ shoulders. “I want to fuck you.”  
  
Eames smiles at him slowly. “I fucking _knew_ it.”  
  
“But we can slow down if you want,” Arthur says, “of course, there’s no hurry, we can talk or…”  
  
“No,” Eames says and kisses him, “absolutely not, I’m going to come in my pants if you keep looking at me like that.”  
  
“Like –“  
  
“Like you’re thinking about fucking me,” Eames says, takes a deep breath and then opens his zipper. “So, how do you want me?”  
  
Arthur wants him in the bed, on his knees and elbows, facing the mattress, everything in him trembling a little when Arthur settles behind him and places a steady hand on the low of his back, then kisses the spot next to his own thumb. He keeps asking Eames if this is alright, if Eames is alright, until finally Eames tells him to shut the fuck up sharply enough that he lets go. He just needs this to be good. He fucking needs this to be perfect so that this can happen again, and again, only he can’t start thinking about that now or else he’s going to panic. And maybe he does, just a little, because Eames looks over his shoulder and says his name and calls him _baby_ which is just absurd, but he doesn’t mind.  
  
“It’s alright, Arthur,” Eames is saying, his voice smug and confident even now when he’s bending over the mattress for Arthur, “baby, it’s alright. Fingers first. You’ve done this before, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says. He wants to punch Eames and also kiss him for being such an idiot. “Yeah, I’ve fucking done this before. Shut the fuck up.”  
  
“Great,” Eames says, “because I wouldn’t want to steal your virtue or anything. Just stick your finger into my arse then, baby.”  
  
“Stop calling me –“  
  
“Darling,” Eames says, “darling, I hope you realize that I’ve fantasized about this. I’ve been thinking about this.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Arthur says and starts with his forefinger.  
  
What he wasn’t expecting is that nothing makes Eames shut up. Nothing. A few minutes later, when Arthur’s got his dick inside him and is half out of his mind and trying not to come right now and couldn’t figure out how to put together a sentence even if someone pulled a gun at him, Eames just keeps talking. And he talks about everything. It’s madness. It’s like he doesn’t have a fucking idea what he’s saying. He talks about how he watches Arthur whenever they’re working together, watches him from across the room, his hands, his mouth, the back of his neck, the way he slouches when he’s tired and how he straightens his back when he realizes what he’s doing. The way he steals everyone else’s pencils when he’s anxious. He thought no one had noticed that. And now he’s trying to fuck Eames and jerk him off at the same time, which is a challenge because he can’t keep himself together anymore, and Eames talks about _pencils._  
  
He comes and kind of falls onto Eames, but Eames stays on his knees, stays still until Arthur manages to get it together enough to pull his dick out. He takes off the condom and by the time he’s tied it and tossed it to the bin, Eames is lying flat on his back, his hand on his dick and his eyes on Arthur. He looks perfect.  
  
“How was it?” Eames asks. “Tell me.”  
  
“Don’t make me talk now.”  
  
“Please,” Eames says, so Arthur tells him it was perfect.  
  
Later, he gets a hand towel from the bathroom and wipes the mess that’s stuck in the hair on Eames’ stomach. Eames has his eyes open but otherwise he looks like he’s about to fall asleep. The sheets are on the floor, Eames is lying sideways on the mattress, all the lights are on, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do.  
  
“Darling,” Eames says and takes a deep breath, “you look worried. Don’t look worried. Are you hungry?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says. _Shit._ “I’m not hungry. What should I –“  
  
“Please don’t say that you’re going back to Cobb’s place tonight. I’m much more handsome than he is.”  
  
“It’s not a competition.”  
  
“Of course it’s a competition. He’s a single ex-criminal with a nice house in the suburbs and quite a few bank accounts, I’m sure. And you’ve always had a blind spot for his faults.”  
  
“Not that way.”  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says, his voice serious now, “I’d very much like it if you stayed for the night. We could have breakfast tomorrow. It’s on me. Alright?”  
  
“I’m just…” Arthur bites his lip. “Eames, we _fucked._ ”  
  
Eames grins at him. “Yeah.”  
  
“What am I supposed to –“  
  
“Arthur, baby,” Eames says and reaches over to pat Arthur on the hand, even though it looks like the gesture takes all his strength. “We fucked and it was lovely. I’m probably going to freak out about it, too, because you’re one of the four people on this planet that I genuinely like, and you’re the only one of them who’s hot. But I’m too tired to freak out now, so we’re just going to have to postpone it until the morning. Okay?”  
  
“I don’t want to freak out.”  
  
“I don’t think you can really avoid it, honey. Not with your personality. Could you get me a glass of water? I’m too tired to move. Almost like someone just fucked me or something.”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth, closes it again and goes to get that glass of water.  
  
“Thanks,” Eames says as he takes the glass from Arthur. “Now, if you want to brush your teeth, there’s a spare toothbrush at the sink.”  
  
“What’re you going to do?”  
  
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall asleep,” Eames says.  
  
“Without brushing your teeth.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That’s disgusting.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Don’t tell my mother. Can I ask you something?”  
  
Arthur stares at him. “Yeah.”  
  
“Do you think that the literature classics are classics because there’s something special about them? Or do you think they’re classics because we _think_ that they’re classics?”  
  
“What the fuck?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Eames says, sighs and rolls onto his side. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out later. Can you tuck me in?”  
  
“Eames –“  
  
“I’m trying to be funny so that you don’t have time to freak out and you can blame that on me. You can thank me later.”  
  
“You aren’t funny,” Arthur says, picks the sheets up from the floor and pulls the duvet over until it reaches Eames’ neck. “You’re just irritating.”  
  
“It’s all part of the plan, darling,” Eames says. “Go brush your teeth so you can judge me in the morning.”  
  
Arthur gets out of the bed. There’s actually a spare toothbrush at the sink, so he brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. He looks happy. It’s goddamn frightening. This means nothing, nothing means anything, only he wants to get back to the bed with Eames and maybe cuddle a little. He wants to kiss Eames and fuck Eames and stay for the breakfast.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
The next morning, they both freak out, which makes it better somehow, because they need to stay calm for each other. They eat breakfast in the room, avoid talking about anything personal, and end up kissing without any clothes. Arthur reaches for Eames’ dick, and Eames manhandles him onto his back, keeps his hips pushed against the mattress and blows him. He returns the favor and the noises Eames is making sound like a small animal is stuck somewhere. But in a good way.  
  
After a quick shower, a bit more kissing and a few vague compliments, Arthur feels like maybe it’s a bit too late to panic. He gets another cup of coffee instead.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Arthur’s been in Chicago for three days when Eames calls him.  
  
“Listen,” Eames says, “I hear you don’t like blind dates, but I know this one guy who’d be just perfect for you. He’s handsome and very good in bed and an excellent forger and British and he’s got a big dick. So, I’m thinking, maybe you’d like to meet him, I don’t know, tonight?”  
  
Arthur’s quiet for a few seconds. His heart is beating faster than it should. “Eames, you don’t have a big dick.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Eames says. “I just thought that maybe you’d need some convincing.”  
  
“But you were talking about yourself, right? Because if you weren’t, please tell him that I’d be delighted to meet him and I hope he wasn’t lying about his dick.”  
  
“Yeah, I was talking about myself, you git,” Eames says. “Are you in Chicago?”  
  
“Don’t you know?” Arthur asks and bites his lip. “Are _you_ in Chicago?”  
  
“Coincidentally, I am,” Eames says. “And I’m planning to be hungry tonight, so maybe you could take me to a dinner.”  
  
“Or,” Arthur says and takes a deep breath. His cat is looking at him from the couch. “Or maybe you could just come over.”  
  
“Come over –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“To your place.”  
  
Arthur swallows. “Yeah.”  
  
“To your place where your cat lives.”  
  
“Yeah. He doesn’t bite.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Eames says, “you’re the only one I’ve got to worry about, then. Yeah, I’d love to come over.”  
  
“With your British friend with a big dick.”  
  
“Yeah. When should we come?”  
  
“I don’t care,” Arthur says. “At seven?”  
  
“Alright,” Eames says. He sounds nervous. Arthur feels nervous. This is terrible, and also he hasn’t seen Eames in four weeks, and he wants nothing more than kiss Eames and then maybe have a quick handjob and, a few hours later, a very slow fuck. “Should I bring something?”  
  
“Bring condoms.”  
  
“Arthur,” Eames says, sounding happy and more nervous. “I didn’t think you’d be like that.”  
  
“I’m not,” Arthur says, “I’ve got condoms. Maybe you could bring pizza.”  
  
“Pizza sounds great.”  
  
“Don’t bring wine, though, because I’m going to want to get drunk and I don’t want my cat to see me like that.”  
  
“Very understandable,” Eames says. “Should I put on my fancy shirt?”  
  
“I think,” Arthur says slowly, “that if you do, I’m just going to take it off. You could just as well come in a t-shirt.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re in Chicago?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Eames says. “Are you?”  
  
“No,” Arthur says and clears his throat. “Eames, I’m going to freak out.”  
  
“Don’t freak out,” Eames says, “go iron your shirts or whatever you do for fun. I’ll see you at seven.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
It's half past six when Eames rings Arthur’s doorbell.  
  
“You’re half an hour early,” Arthur says as he opens the door.  
  
“Yeah, well,” Eames says, “I thought I’d save you half an hour of panicking. Going to let me in?”  
  
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to panic.”  
  
“And I wasn’t completely sure you wouldn’t, I don’t know, flee the country.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to,” Arthur says. He had barely considered that.  
  
“Then you’re a braver man than me,” Eames says. He walks to Arthur’s living room, puts two boxes of pizza onto Arthur’s coffee table, then turns to face Arthur and pulls a packet of condoms from his pocket. “I’ve got something for you.”  
  
“You didn’t have to.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Eames says, “because I also had someone hack your medical records. Apparently you got tested just last week. What were you expecting, romance?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says and glances at the pizza boxes, but he’s not really hungry. He’s been nervous as fuck for hours. Hell, he took a shower twice and almost bought a plane ticket to Vancouver. It’s been a stressful afternoon.  
  
And now Eames is here. He looks as nervous as he sounded on the phone, and like he’s trying to cover it up and failing.  
  
Arthur takes a deep breath. “What’re you doing in Chicago?”  
  
Eames bites his lower lip. “Just came to see you, mate.”  
  
“You came to see me –“  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says and shrugs.  
  
“Eames, you were in Marrakesh.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, watching him. He nods. He should try to get Eames say aloud what he wants, what he’s expecting to happen. The whole plan. Eames is considerably better at manipulating people than him but now he just might get lucky.  
  
But the thing is, he’s tired of going on blind dates. He’s tired, there’s pizza on the table, and he hasn’t kissed Eames in four weeks.  
  
He walks to the couch, sits down and rests his forearms against his thighs. Then he looks up at Eames. “Do you want a relationship?”  
  
Eames blinks, then blinks again. “What?”  
  
“Because we can just fuck,” Arthur says, “that’s alright, too. But I can’t remember the last time when there’s been someone I can’t get out of my head. So, if you want a relationship –“  
  
“I want a relationship,” Eames says.  
  
Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it. “What?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, “of course I fucking want a relationship. I just flew over the Atlantic to see you. I was in goddamn Marrakesh and the weather was just _brilliant_ , and I got into a plane because I was missing you so fucking much. And it’s fucking _raining_ in here.”  
  
“But,” Arthur says slowly, “when you say that you want a relationship, do you mean –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Shut up, I’m talking. Do you mean the kind of a relationship that people generally call a relationship? Like –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Like, not fucking other people?”  
  
“Fuck, yeah,” Eames says and frowns. “I’ve got to tell you something, Arthur. I’m a bit of a jealous type. I can’t help it. I’m handling it pretty well, but… yeah. I’ve been jealous at Cobb about you ever since I first met you.”  
  
“Ever since… It’s been more than five years.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says slowly.  
  
“And Cobb and I never –“  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Eames says. “Anyway, can we get back to the relationship we’re talking about? Because I’m willing to negotiate, but really, I’d love it if it was the kind of a thing that wouldn’t involve fucking other people.”  
  
“Fine,” Arthur says. “No fucking other people.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“You don’t need to look so relieved,” Arthur says. _Fucking hell._ “I like you a lot, Eames. You don’t need to look at me like you’re surprised I haven’t thrown you out yet.”  
  
“Yet,” Eames says, but he’s smiling now. “You like me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says. “Couldn’t you tell? Because I thought there were hints, like, when we fucked.”  
  
“I never know what exactly is going on in your pretty head,” Eames says, “and I’ve been wondering about it for a long time, so forgive me for not wanting to jump into conclusions. So, back to this relationship we’re apparently in. Does this mean I can meet your cat?”  
  
“He’s hiding under the bed.”  
  
“Great,” Eames says and nods, “absolutely great. Are you going to introduce me to your mother?”  
  
“I don’t know. What’re you going to do if she asks what you do for a living?”  
  
“Lie, of course. Can I call you my boyfriend?”  
  
“You could just use my name.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll call you darling.” Eames takes a deep breath. “Darling?”  
  
“Yeah?” Arthur says. His voice is a bit thin but there’s absolutely nothing he can do about that.  
  
“Are you going to kiss me?”  
  
“I don’t know. Aren’t we going to eat first?”  
  
Eames shakes his head. “No. No, we aren’t going to eat first. Just… no. That’s just not acceptable.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur says and stands up. It takes five steps to walk to Eames. He stops at Eames’ face and looks the man in the eyes. “Are we going to have sex?”  
  
“In a minute,” Eames says. He’s glancing between Arthur’s eyes and his mouth. “I need a moment here, I think.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Arthur says. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You don’t look okay.”  
  
“Just kiss me already,” Eames says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
They kiss in the living room. Then they kiss in the kitchen. Then they get to the bedroom and the kissing turns into a hasty handjob, which ends with them lying on the mattress naked from the waist down. That’s when Arthur remembers about the cat. It takes some time to convince him to come out from under the bed.  
  
“I’m hungry,” Eames says, when the cat’s safely in the living room and Arthur’s almost passed out twice. “I brought pizza.”  
  
Arthur blinks. He has his arm draped over Eames waist and his soft dick pressing against Eames’ ass. Everything’s perfect.  
  
But there’s one thing he’s been wondering.  
  
“Eames,” he says and wriggles a little closer to Eames. They should take their shirts off. There’s too much fabric and too little bare skin.  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says, “pizza.”  
  
“No,” Arthur says, “no, I meant to say… There’s one thing I’ve been wondering.”  
  
He thinks he can feel Eames tensing in his arms. But then again, he’s been called paranoid once or twice.  
  
“It’s just,” he says, “isn’t it funny, that every time someone sets me up for a blind date, it turns out to be with you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says slowly, “funny.”  
  
“Every fucking time. I know we know a lot of same people, but still, every time someone tells me they know a perfect guy for me, it’s you. That’s just improbable, right? That everyone just reaches the conclusion that we’d be great together, you and me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Eames says in a tone that’s just a little bit too light. Arthur kisses the back of his neck and pulls him closer. “Yeah,” Eames says, “what a truly incredible coincidence.”


End file.
